OffColor Christmas
by Miss Hollow
Summary: The Horsepersons get through yet another Christmas.


Off-Color Christmas  
  
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The Horsepersons. Christmas. Their thoughts on it. More like three ficlets in one package than one fic.  
  
DISCLAIMER: Oh, nothing new, really. /me does not own the Horsepersons, but to hear afrai tell it, is a Respected Authority on them.  
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He never had seen much merit to this time of year.  
  
There was something about the Christmas season - probably all the prodding from churches - that actually made people _think_ of those with less. Less food seemed like a favorite target in some places, but maybe that was just because he always noticed things like that.  
  
His restaurants didn't exactly fare well from it, either. To keep the appearance of normalcy, he had to give the Burger Lord employees the day off, if he wanted them to come back to work the next day. Besides, people ate real meals with their families for at least that one day. Nobody wanted junk at Christmas.  
  
Even Africa was of no help. He wasn't really sure there were enough people left alive for the place to be a valid work zone these days. Funny how everyone in America seemed to assume he was here rather than right under their noses the whole time.  
  
He'd run into Pestilence the other day. For a retired member of the crew, he'd certainly done quite a number on the continent. They talked for a while, and Pestilence finally decided to give Africa a break and go look for War. They hadn't parted well, and presumably seventy-ish years had been long enough.  
  
At least someone stood a chance of having a good holiday.  
Of course, he'd pull through the himself. He'd done it before. No one ever said it had been fun.  
  
Luckily for his business, humans had relatively short attention spans. This whole season of giving and/or plenty thing would only last about two weeks. A month, tops, but that was rather stretching it.  
  
Then again, more and more shopping centers were hauling out the Christmas decorations around Halloween. What that meant for the future he had no idea, but he'd deal with it when it came up. If it came up. And he seriously hoped it wouldn't.  
  
One of these days he'd tell the world where they could stick their tidings of comfort and joy. In the meantime, it was at least quiet.  
  
***  
  
It's a day like any other day in Jerusalem. If she heard the weather report correctly last night, it's only supposed to get up into the mid-80's today. So, a little cooler than usual, but she'll still have plenty of tension in the air to work with.  
  
No, wait. Scratch that bit about the tension. It's only really noticeable to frequent visitors of the area such as herself, but there is definitely less tension in the air than there was yesterday.  
  
Which means it can only be _that_ day.  
  
Every bloody December she has this problem.* It's not so much that people don't want to fight as they think there's some sort of moral obligation not to, so they sort of force themselves to get along. Between Christmas, Hanukkah, and - and that one Islam holy month, she can never remember the name of it - there's always someone who'll protest a random act of violence.  
  
She can only remember one good Christmas out of the thousands since the third major religion came into it. (It's just as well that there's only about 1500 years to that, seeing as most events before are starting to go fuzzy in her mind.) And that was only because someone saw an advantage in pulling off a sneak attack.  
  
These days it seems people's options run like this: Either forget for the day (or week, or month, or whatever) that War is there, or do something anyway and risk being scolded by both religious _and_ government authorities. The threat of a severe tongue-lashing or dozen is somehow enough to discourage most of them.  
  
If there's one thing she truly can't stand, it's that feeling of being ignored. It doesn't sit well with her stomach; in fact, if she didn't know better, she'd say it makes her sick.  
  
But she doesn't get sick. None of them do. One of the job's perks, so to speak.  
  
With nothing better to do, she gives up moping and decides to wander about the city for a while. She really does love it here, mostly because it's a holy site for three major religions and in a hotly contested area of land to boot. There's almost always something for her to do.  
  
Today she might be reduced to people-watching, but she'll make the most of it. And she tries, she really does, but it just isn't working. Not until she notices a familiar haircut, anyway.  
  
Amongst all the turbans, towel-like head covers, and tourists' baseball caps is a scruffy-looking head of dishwater blond hair, the owner of which is heading toward her.  
  
She'd have a hope of who it might be, if hoping weren't such a human thing to do. Besides, she _knows_ it's him. There's an instinct to it, one that hasn't left just because he retired.  
  
Maybe something worthwhile will happen this year after all.  
  
*She'd be better off, naturally, if it was the sort of the Middle East was normally subjected to.  
  
***  
  
They had indeed received a white Christmas, provided one left the edges of the roads out of the picture. Right by the curbs there existed a gray, slushy mess that would put even the most diligent studier of animal entrails off their lunch. The fact that it was randomly littered with cigarette butts, empty soda cans, and fast-food takeout bags certainly didn't help matters.  
  
A young man was walking down the road in the most literal sense he could manage, which in turn meant he was strolling right through the muck.* He'd started out wearing all white, as far as anyone who bothered to notice him could tell. By now the slush had started to soak his trouser legs. The stain would probably never come out.  
  
He was loving every minute of it.  
  
This time of year was, in some ways more than others, what his business was all about, after all. Nothing made the poison of exhaust fumes more apparent than snow. And then there was Christmas.  
  
He knew the others didn't care for it, and he himself was no fan of the religious aspect. The giant rush of consumerism always managed to warm him over to it. That hole he'd started in the ozone layer got just a tiny bit bigger every time someone drove to a shopping center, whether it was a trip to buy gifts or return them. Every strand of light that went up added to his little-known but highly successful drive to obscure the stars.  
  
The unwrapping ceremonies were probably his favorite part. While there were occasionally people who saved every scrap of paper that came their way, most people preferred to rip it to shreds on their way to the gift. For their part, the gifts themselves had a tendency to come in their very own plastic wrap. It all made such a lovely mess.  
  
Really, he'd never understand those recycling types. Or the ones who'd ruined his first job, back in Pittsburgh. He'd finally managed to get it just right, and they went and cleaned it up as soon as he wasn't paying attention...  
  
But worrying about something that had happened - what, fifty years ago? - wasn't going to do much good. He'd be better off if he concentrated on the mess he had going now.  
  
He trudged rather happily on down the road, leaving nothing behind but a trail through the slush.  
  
*Well, not really so much strolling. No matter how happy you are it's very hard to get much of anywhere through slush without trudging, especially if it's the sort he'd created just for the area.  
  
FINIS


End file.
